


Emptier and Quieter

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Come From Away - Sankoff & Hein
Genre: After Gander, Angst, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Quite a lot of angst, Separation Anxiety, alternating pov, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Diane and Nick return to their respective homes. All is not well.
Relationships: Nick/Diane
Comments: 25
Kudos: 9





	1. Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is almost the same story as I posted a few weeks ago. There was a fairly major change and it just seemed easier to start again. Apologies if that's confusing. <3
> 
> Disclaimer: This is not RPF  
> While Nick and Diane in the musical are based on real people, this story is set strictly in the fictional representation of them in the musical, ‘Come From Away’. I haven’t done any research into their personal lives, and anything further than what is canon in the musical is completely made up, with the exception of some geographical details. This is not intended to represent the real life couple in any way, their thoughts, attitudes or actions. It’s just my brain saying, ‘what if?’, as it does to every story that resonates with me.

Diane sighed, pressing her face into the pillow. It had been cool, hours ago; now it was not only warm but damp from the tears she’d been unable to hold back. There was no relief anymore, but her restless body wouldn’t lie still. Home was not as reassuring as she’d hoped while away. The familiar rooms had an edge of loneliness rather than comfort and she just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

Sitting up, Diane blinked as she looked across the bedroom. Even the light wasn’t quite the same as before. The hall bulb cast shadows in unusual directions, but she’d been unable to bring herself to switch it off before retiring. It took a few seconds to identify the shapes in front of her. Her tired brain wondered how much of that was the weeks she’d been away and how much was the unfamiliarity of the situation.

Glancing at the phone, she tightened her fist, stopping herself reaching for it. There was no way Nick would be home by now, not even if he had made it onto a flight that left immediately. He told her he’d call as soon as he got back. She hated having to wait, but calling him before he landed would be…desperate. The word sat awkwardly with her, but it had popped into her head and fitted uncomfortably well.

Close as they had been during the flight home, Diane didn’t really know where they stood. There had been admittedly little conversation on the plane, as much for their newfound intimacy as for the semi-public location. At the time she’d had no problem with it but now sitting on her bed alone, the silence of the house pulsing around her, she wished they’d had just a moment to talk about…whatever this was. After so many days in Gander, doing nothing in particular, there had been a whirlwind of changes and now she was here. Sitting on her bed, alone in her house as she had done for a long time before Gander.

For all intents and purposes, nothing had changed. But before Gander she had been content in her solitude, or at least she didn’t question it too closely. And now…now she was lonely. When something dropped onto her hand, Diane didn’t even have to look to know it was the first tear of many. Sighing, she reached for a tissue.

+++

Snaring a seat on the first flight from Dallas to London sounded like a coup, but Nick soon realised it was in fact a tactical error. Had he waited, he would have had down time in Dallas. As it was, his boss left several messages on his answering machine reminding him of the work he needed to complete - and that he was expected back in the office Monday morning. Which was approximately 13 hours from when he walked into his flat. The air was still, as it should be; Nick wondered if he had ever noticed how quiet the space was.

Nick rolled his head, wincing as his neck protested. He’d almost fallen asleep in the taxi back to his flat, and his neck was paying for it. Getting inside had been automatic – three steps, don’t let the front door bang, jiggle the lock – and now he stood in his entranceway, staring at the blink of his answering machine. There were messages, which was to be expected, but there was only one person he wanted to speak to, and based on his calculations, she would be asleep right now. There was no point waking her; he’d call in the morning. Or should it be the afternoon? He blinked, knowing he’d written it down at the airport, needing to do something as he waited for his flight to board. Right now, between the strangeness of his flat, the quiet that seemed to thrum in his ears and the disconcerting sense that he was missing something, complex calculations were a little out of his reach.

He needed to sit down.

Staring at the drawn curtains across his sitting room, Nick realised this wasn’t really helping. He’d turned on a few lights, which was better than the darkness, but the quiet was still odd. And not just the quiet, but the lack of people. Initially he’d been uncomfortable having so many people around all the time. Normally a trans-Atlantic flight would have been enough, but five days in a cramped shelter? By the time their time was drawing to a close, though, he was more used to the people and the noise that came with them, even at night. The sound of two hundred people sleeping was almost indescribable. A quiet symphony of breathing, snoring and sighing, the rustle of blankets and occasional whispered exchange.

Now, there was nothing. Just the hum of his refrigerator, the very occasional noise from the street – this was a good neighbourhood, after all – and his own breathing.

Twisting his hands together, Nick looked down, remembering the flight from Gander into Dallas. Diane’s fingers had been tangled with his much of the way, when her palm hadn’t rested against some part of him, warm and small; he could still feel the gentle pressure against his cheek, his chest, cupping the shape of his knee. She was so much more confident than he, which had been a relief in those first initial hours, but as he reflected on the flight back to London, perhaps it would be their undoing.

Would she even want to hear from him? Much as he was restraining himself from calling right now, time difference be damned, he didn’t want to seem too eager. Their final exchange he’d promised to call as soon as he got back, but there was something about waiting a day, wasn’t there? Did that apply in this situation?

He had no idea.

No idea what she wanted from this, whatever it was. Did Diane know? Why didn’t they take a few minutes out of their time together to talk about that? Awkward as it would have been, at least he’d know where he stood. As it was, he was sitting in his flat, which was exactly as he’d left it, as he had always liked it to be. Small but ordered, nothing out of place, sparsely furnished as reflected his lack of time spent in it. Nick couldn’t ever remember thinking about how his home made him feel before now. It had just existed, allowed him somewhere to sleep and shower and keep his record collection. He hadn’t noticed how still the air was, or how much bigger it really was than necessary for one person. It had never been lonely until now.

Sitting forward, clenching his hands, Nick lowered his head. His flat wasn’t different, he was. And he would have to find some way to live with that. In the meantime, he should unpack before trying to get some sleep. Maybe he’d find the paper he wrote and figure out what time to call Diane without waking her. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt her with a phone call.

She might not even want to speak with him.


	2. Grey

The first days passed in a blur. Without the routine of work, Diane found hours slipping by unnoticed as she stared sightlessly out a window or contemplated doing something – contemplated without actually doing. Her boss suggested she take some time off and it was easier to agree than argue, so over an entire week faced her with little to do than think about what had happened in Gander.

No, that wasn’t right. She did think about those days, but few memories were free of Nick. As the days moved on and her immediate memories faded, it was small moments she remembered clearly. Making tea, and she paused, recalling how they’d both liked watching milk swirl into their tea like clouds in a bronze sky. Hanging her laundry, and the shirt she’d worn reminded her how he’d commented on the pattern. Passing the fishmonger and smiling instinctively at the memory of that cod, and the moments after.

Every action she made triggered some memory of him. She couldn’t escape it, and critically, couldn’t sufficiently explain it to anyone. Nothing happened, not really. They had met, and connected in the way people do in temporary situations...and then he left. And then she was alone, and agonisingly aware of the fact.

By Wednesday, Nick still hadn’t called. Diane’s explanations to herself - he’d been tired, he’d had to go back to work immediately, it had been tricky figuring out the time difference – none rang quite true. There had been one caller who didn’t leave a message, but she couldn’t trace it, and her inner voice told her it wouldn’t be Nick. Why would he call without saying anything? Now, only ‘he lost my number’ was plausible, other than...no. She would not consider the possibility that he was deliberately not calling. Even the idea caught her breath in her throat.

“Diane?” her sister pressed. Allison phrased her question gently, and Diane tried to explain, tripping over her words as her sister watched in astonishment. She’d listened with the kind of patience generally reserved for small children’s meandering tales before asking why Diane didn’t simply call him.

She couldn’t answer. How could she explain to Nick that she had waited for him to call her but had decided to call him instead? Wouldn’t she look impatient? Like she was pushing for something? Like she had seen what they might be, if they had the courage to be it? And how would he receive that? The questions whirled in her mind, dulling her sister’s admonishing words and she nodded absently.

Perhaps when she returned to work, things would be easier. She would have something to tell him, rather than the nothingness of her current existence. She wasn’t doing anything worth telling him about. It would make more sense to call him when something happened.

Her sister told her she sounded different. Sadder. She couldn’t put that on Nick, not when he’d returned to his important job. Jumped back into it, if she knew him, making sure everything was running smoothly. And here she was, sitting at home watching the shadows track across the floor instead of getting on with her life. She should try and sound happier before they spoke.

He wouldn’t want to hear about how grey her life had become.

+++

Though his body was tired, Nick had not slept well. Uneasy, he’d risen early the next morning, ensuring he was at work in good time. It was familiar, like an old memory; something that used to fit but was now not quite right. With any luck, he’d get back into the rhythm of work and he could figure out what to do about Diane later.

It was not to be. Between his boss and the CEO, Nick spent half the morning in meetings. Neither so much as asked if he was okay. Both resulted in him feeling slightly responsible for the events in the US, as though he had arranged things specifically to disfavour the company and make other peoples’ lives more difficult. He never really thought of his boss as the empathetic kind, but the disapproving expression when Nick explained that he’d tried to call the office was still a surprise (“Just once, Nicholas? In five days?”). When he did make it back to his desk, officemates dropped by with maddening regularity to ask questions, joke about the measures to which he’d go to ensure a holiday, or make half-serious comments about the hours he’d have to put in to make it up to the boss, who was making his displeasure known to everyone.

By the end of the day, all he wanted was…surprising. Formerly Nick would have said, ‘a stiff drink and to be left alone’, but as he stood on the Tube all he wanted was…to talk to Diane. He could see her empathetic expression as he outlined his day, and he wanted to wrap her in his arms and close his eyes, blocking out the uncaring world for just a minute. At least part of that scenario wasn’t going to happen, but as he walked back into his flat and glanced at the phone, he had no idea what he’d say to her. Was it even the right time of day? Nick went through his pockets, finally finding his scribbled note; he was six hours ahead, so she would be at lunchtime or so. He stared at it, wondering how he would even start a conversation.

Without thinking, he picked up the phone, punching in the long code that would connect him with the country-area-number she’d carefully penned.

It rang, and his heart thudded.

“Hello, you’ve called Diane. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back,” her voice told him brightly, and the beep after took him by surprise. By the time he’d figured out he was meant to be talking he’d hung up, staring at the phone as thought it was a live snake.

She didn’t want to hear him complain about his life.


	3. different, distant, strange

While returning to work gave Diane something to do – tasks to complete, a vague sense that she was achieving something – it wasn’t as simple as she’d hoped. Her sister obviously thought she was back to her old self, whatever that meant. But for all the normality it should engender in her, Diane couldn’t shake the sense that the version of herself that had returned to Dallas ten days ago wasn’t the same person who had left for London.

The experience had changed her. The first day in Gander she felt it the most strongly, but as it had become more comfortable, Diane realised she was still a true representation of herself. A less timid version, perhaps, and as she and Nick walked around Gander together she became more confident in it. More at ease with the idea that this could be her, too – and a her someone actually liked. Someone like Nick.

It wasn’t until she returned to Dallas that the differences became so apparent. It was subtle, nothing she could put her finger on right away. She wasn’t more outgoing, indeed, she felt herself shrink at the idea of socialising. But she chose a new flavour of coffee at the store, stopped to listen to a street musician. Spoke up when someone cut in line. The first week conversations with her son and her sister were both different. Or she was; it was hard to tell. There were awkward pauses when she lost track of what they were saying; that was definitely her. But they also cast odd looks, the same as she received when she returned to work.

Rather than pick up where she had left off, chatting over morning coffee or arranging dinners for the office, Diane completed her tasks without comment before leaving at the end of the day. She was polite, of course, but what did she have to say that people understood? Her mind was still filled with Gander, with breath-taking views and sleeping on the floor, midnight cups of tea in a school cafeteria and the most generous people she’d ever come across. She was looking at the world with changed eyes, and explaining was too hard.

Her heart was still full of Nick.

Discussion of television seemed...pointless now. She didn’t watch in the evenings when she returned home. There had been so much about New York and the new war their president was determined to begin, and she was not interested in seeing it. Instead she sat at her kitchen table, a new flavour of tea and a packet of custard creams bought from the international section of the grocery store. She would never admit that it made her feel closer to Nick.

And she would write.

She would tell Nick about her day. The things that reminded her of him, that made her laugh (uncommon) and cry (an almost daily occurrence). She confided her fears about how she would live her life now, having had that glimpse of what they might have had, and the overwhelming paralysing fear that he did not share her vision.

And when she was done she folded each letter carefully, sliding it into the envelope before sealing it and writing the date on the front. Each letter was placed in the box in her closet with her birth certificate and David’s, never to be read.

+++

The weekend stretched long and empty in front of him. The uncertainty of his last meeting of the week still lingered, and Nick knew Monday would bring resolution one way or the other. As he sat on the edge of his bed to untie his shoes, Nick’s ears rang with the sound of his boss’s voice, their conversation playing over and over in his head.

“What do you mean you’ll be in on Monday? These projects are running behind! The conference has been rescheduled and we need to-”

“Whether I work through the weekend or not, nothing can be done until the suppliers get back to me. Sarah’s emailed everyone.” Nick shrugged. “There is literally nothing I can do.”

“What if they get back to us tomorrow?”

“I’ll be here first thing Monday,” Nick said again. It was easy not to get flustered now that he realised how pointless all his extra hours had been. Sitting in the office reviewing proposals and conference notes would achieve nothing. It seemed his time in Gander had proven only that his boss cared nothing for him, and everything for the job. Why was he killing himself for this company that didn’t even care what had happened to him in Canada?

As he walked past his phone again, Nick felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t tried to call Diane again since that first disastrous call; there had been nothing to report, anyway. The beginning of last week he’d worked monstrous hours, trying to catch up on the mountain of work his boss implied had formed while he was gone; by Wednesday afternoon he realised it was nowhere near as bad as he thought. By Thursday, he was caught up, waiting for emails to be returned.

He spent last weekend at the office as demanded by his boss, critically reviewing his regular tasks, realising how superfluous most of them were. If he stopped coming in at all hours of the day and night, it would make zero difference to his productivity.

Obviously, his boss didn’t agree, hence their meeting at 4pm Friday.

Nick knew his boss and the CEO would make a decision over the weekend. They’d outright fire him, accept his decision not to be at their beck and call, or threaten him with termination. He’d already decided if they did he would resign. His skills and experience would allow him to more or less pick his next job, and his savings would mean he wouldn’t have to hurry as he considered his options.

This decision felt like it was something he wanted to talk to Diane about, but the idea of calling her…he swallowed, the whiskey burning his throat as he surveyed the phone again. His old insecurity rose up again, and his inner voice pointed out how boring the news really was. The desire to tell her was strong, though, and as he passed his study, inspiration hit.

He would write to her.

The expensive stationery he rarely used, the navy ink he’d treated himself to for his last birthday, the blotter still unmarred since the new desk was delivered a year ago. It felt like the perfect way to share his news without having to risk ruining everything. He could tell her, but the letters would stay safe, along with his heart.


	4. honest

Friday September 28, 2001

Dear Nick,

I’ve been back at work for almost a week now. Nothing is different, but I don’t remember why I was so contented working here. The people are nice, and the work isn’t difficult. But I remember getting such satisfaction out of it, and now…it fills the hours. Gives me something to do, in between waking up and going to bed, and from a practical perspective it allows me to pay my bills.

My sister has decided she’s coming over tomorrow to bake with me. It’s David’s birthday in three months (Christmas baby), and she has a new recipe she wants to get right. She so clearly wants to talk to me, or make sure I don’t stay in bed all weekend or something. If she wasn’t coming over I probably would stay in bed. What else have I to get up for? I haven’t seen a lot of my friends, actually. Some have called, some haven’t, most have spoken to Allison. She’s doing the fussy big sister thing, probably continuing on from when we were in Gander. I think she appointed herself the Bearer of News. I haven’t really asked what she’s telling them, it doesn’t seem all that important.

The only thing that is important is you.

I miss you. I know I told you yesterday, and the day before, but I think there are a few things you should say more often than not. And since ‘I miss you’ is basically ‘I love you from a distance’, it seems appropriate.

Love,

Diane

Saturday September 29, 2001

Dear Nick,

Well, as I suspected, Allison is not interested in baking the perfect mocha swirl blondie for David’s birthday. She was subtle, as always, but a lifetime of being pumped for information means I know all her tricks. Normally I’d just tell her whatever she wanted to know, but today was different. She was getting frustrated when I was evading her answers, I could tell. But I’ve told her some of what happened in Gander – she knows I kissed you on the plane, my dear, but not how much it meant. How much it continues to mean. I suspect she thinks it’s some kind of vacation romance, destined to fade away in a few weeks.

How little she knows me now. Part of me wants to tell someone, but I like keeping you safe to myself. The words sound strange, and it’s so hard to put it into words. How odd that a few days could lead to something that feels so significant. I wonder if we had met in a coffee shop, or some other place, would we have connected? Would the old version of me have talked as freely, or been bold enough to make a move?

We’ll never know, but I suspect it was as much our particular circumstances as anything else that made our time special. I still miss you. I wonder if you like mocha swirl blondies? I know you have a sweet tooth, but I don’t think I ever actually saw you drink coffee. It feels like a detail I should know.

I wish I could ask you.

+++

Saturday 29 September, 2001

Dear Diane,

It’s a strange weekend. I may be getting fired on Monday, or possibly I will resign. Neither is certain, but far from being anxious, I feel quite calm about the matter. The indifference with which my boss has treated my time in Gander has served to demonstrate his – and by extension, the company’s – disregard for the wellbeing of its employees.

I used to take pride in my devotion to the company; the hours I put in, the first name basis on which I stood with the local coffee house, given that they would deliver on weekends. I made sure everything from my division crossed my desk, double checking everything. I thought it made me a better worker. I now see it simply demonstrated my lack of trust in my team, as well as a truly breath-taking lack of efficiency.

Despite my boss’s desire for me to work this weekend, I have spent the day at home, in a manner I have not done in more years than I can count. It is past midday, and I am still in pyjamas. I did not rise at six, as is my habit, but rolled over and dozed for a further hour. It felt simply decadent, I assure you. I made toast and a mug of tea – I never make my own coffee, did you notice in Gander? – and I passed the remainder of the morning in a haze of nostalgia. My record collection is not particularly fancy, nor is it expensive, but I own almost ever record I have ever bought, and a good quality record player which is sadly rather neglected.

Not today. I played my records with abandon, recalling from my youth the exact location to find the beginning of specific tracks, something my father abhorred me doing. I did return each to its sleeve, but the haphazard manner in which I chose songs brought me great pleasure. I had forgotten the simple pleasure of closing my eyes and listening to music. Perhaps the screech-in reminded me that music can bring so much joy, even in times of great trial.

The only thing missing was you. I would recommend some of my favourites to you, but there is nothing like listening to a record. I hesitate to suggest it, but I would very much like to play these for you one day, settled together in my study, our mugs of cocoa growing cold as we kiss to the sounds of the Beatles.

My literature teacher said I had a flair for dramatic prose, and while it has been a while, I find myself thinking of our possible future in more and more romantic phrases.

I wonder if you see a future for us.

With love, now and always,

Nick

Monday 1 October, 2001

Dear Diane,

I am unemployed. My boss suggested if I was not prepared to work weekends they would employ someone who was.

I agreed and handed him the acceptance of his dismissal. I had written it the previous evening, with the very pen I now use to write to you. Calling his bluff was deeply satisfying, and I left the office immediately, collecting only a few personal belongings. An exit interview has been scheduled for tomorrow and I intend to attend and cooperate. No good would come from being obstinate. As for the rest of the day – I listened to The Beatles and drank expensive whiskey.

Such freedom is a strange feeling.

I miss you.

With love,

Nick


	5. Asking questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More letters, written but not sent.

Monday December 24, 2001

Dear Nick,

Today is David’s birthday. We’re always careful to call it ‘David’s birthday’ and not ‘Christmas Eve’. Allison’s cake turned out fine, in case you were wondering. All those trial runs were unnecessary. We had lunch together, as we always do, the extended family collecting for David’s birthday before heading to church for our yearly attendance.

I don’t usually pray for anything. My parents always used to take us, and it’s more of a family tradition than a religious one. The songs are nice, and it marks the beginning of the Christmas anticipation I always feel once the minister begins his sermon. This year was different. The songs are still nice, and I know I should still be looking forward to family time tomorrow but it feels more like grief than anything else. It took me a while to figure out why it was different than usual.

It’s another milestone in which you don’t share. I almost left a space for you beside me at church but David sat on one side and Allison on the other. I know they still think I’m different since I returned, and not in a good way. They still call a little more often, and David comes for dinner twice a week now. I am happy to see them, but it feels superficial. Like it’s not real happiness, the joy that permeates your soul. How terrible is that?

This year when the minister asked everyone to bow their heads I found myself doing as he asked. I prayed for all the groups he mentioned, but when he asked everyone to sit with a personal wish for the season, something that would fill their own soul so they might better serve others, I thought only of you. I have been a terrible sister, mother and friend since I arrived home from Gander. I have been so internally focussed I haven’t had any energy for anyone else. My mind is filled with memories of you instead. I can’t concentrate, but I can’t bring myself to call you, either. Why is that?

Returning home from church tonight I poured a glass of wine. I didn’t even know where the wine glasses lived. Suffice it to say the world is a little blurry now, and I ask you to forgive me if this letter is somewhat fractured. The last time I drank alcohol was the screech-in. Do I remember that night properly anymore? In my head it’s clear, but I might be making parts up. I don’t want to forget it. I don’t want to forget you, but the details of your face feel less clear and I fear I might be.

Why haven’t you called me? Why haven’t I called you? It’s been too long now, at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Nothing is happening in my life. Nothing you probably want to hear about. I’m sure your work is far more interesting and important than what’s going on over here. What would I tell you? Anything I could say would be covering what I really want to say.

I miss you.

I forget the exact colour of your eyes.

I wish you were here.

Love, Diane

+++

Tuesday 25 December, 2001

Dear Diane,

It feels odd to wish you a Merry Christmas under the circumstances, but that has been the greeting for weeks. I rarely bother to decorate my flat, but with nothing else to occupy my time I find myself considering the benefits of a real tree versus artificial as though it really matters. I opted for a real tree, the smell of pine tipping the balance, and I admit it is not unpleasant. The shopping for ornaments took up the better part of three days. This was mainly due to my determination to see all the possible combinations before settling on a colour scheme.

I would admit this only to you, dear heart, but I was also looking for something to keep me busy. In the end I settled for a traditional red, white and gold combination with an angel on the top to supervise the plethora of animals below. I decided against tinsel (messy) but instead bought gold twinkle lights. I have taken to turning off all the other lights as soon as it is dark – earlier than 5pm at this time of year – and sitting with a drink as I consider the direction my life might take.

I wish I could talk with you about it.

I would not burden you with such grave news as my redundancy. Surely your family fulfil your life, and you don’t need the problems of someone else to occupy your mind. I tell myself that is why you haven’t called, while ignoring my own failings. You must have more important things to think about. I wonder if you think of me. Do you remember the walks we took? The night we realised we both like watching milk move through the tea? I remember the moments but when I try and picture the shape of your smile, it escapes me and I fear I am forgetting you. How can that be, when I think of you so often? Is my mind really so fickle?

Today is Christmas Day. As always, I have no plans. Offers from some people I would not call friends, necessarily, but kind acquaintances who know enough to know I have nowhere else to be. I always beg off, preferring to spend the day in my own company. This is the first year I find the day to be lonely instead of quietly satisfying. I wish you were here. I wish we could spend the day together, and I could shower you with gifts so that I could never ever forget the curve of your smile.

I would show you the angel I put at the top of the tree. I would have bought the mistletoe I decided against, and I would hang it in every doorway.

The year is almost over and I find myself looking back with more regrets than I care to admit. If only I’d had the courage to take more photos of you in Gander. They turned out blurry, the ones from the lookout. I wish the months passed would not make our conversation awkward, but they would. I wish that didn’t matter, but it does. It will, if you ask why I haven’t called.

I hope the new year gives me the courage to call you.

I miss you.

I love you.

Nick


	6. Stop being scared

Monday December 31, 2001, 11.30am

Dear Nick,

I am going to call you. At midnight. It won’t be midnight for you. But it will be midnight for me. A moment for change. I can’t do this anymore. David came to see me this morning and cried – actually cried – he was so upset.

He wants me to be happy, he said.

He offered to send me back to Gander. To London or wherever I needed to go.

But I can’t do that without talking to you first.

So many things were lost because of what happened – how can it be that we might have found something? How can we be happy about an event that brought us together when it tore so many families apart?

I am nervous. Frightened, which is ridiculous – but the possibility of things being too late is less difficult to face than the certainty of it and whatever else, I will get certainty if I speak to you.

When. When I speak to you.

Whatever else happens, I love you.

Diane.

+++

Monday 31 December, 2001, 10am

Dear Diane,

As of today, I am employed. Well, I will be. I have agreed to begin in two weeks. The paperwork was signed this morning, and the company will begin their end of things while I begin to pack.

I have to speak to you.

I hope I don’t disrupt your life, but I can’t do this without speaking to you first. It will be awkward, and I am bracing for that. The worst keeps flooding through my mind, but I cannot let this rest as it has these last long months. It has not rested, in truth; it has whirled around in my head constantly. Even if things go poorly, I will know, and can begin to repair my broken heart.

That sounds remarkably dramatic, and yet it feels true.

I am going to call you at midnight.

I hope you will pick up.

I love you.

Nick

+++

Diane returned home, throwing her keys in the bowl as the door closed behind her. Why she had elected to do groceries at 5pm on New Year’s Eve was beyond her. Everything had taken longer, and now that she was home with her few items, she was glad she wouldn’t have to move again until next year.

Glancing at the answering machine, Diane pressed the button to play the message waiting for her. Surely Allison hadn’t called again? They’d spoken twice that day already. Diane had threatened to boycott the next family dinner if Allison didn’t stop trying to convince her to go out tonight. Now, as she reached for the iced tea, she braced for the sound of her sister’s voice.

It wasn’t Allison.

The iced tea jug hit the bench hard but didn’t spill; Diane wouldn’t have noticed if it had. Her kitchen was full of Nick’s voice.

“Diane?” A pause, Diane holding her breath at the familiar accent wrapped around her name. “It’s Nick. Nick Marson.” He chuckled nervously. “I hope you remember me. I fear…I have not called since we parted ways. I wish I had a good reason.” He paused again, and Diane could feel his discomfort through the message tape. “Anyway, I was just calling to say…I would like to speak to you. If you would like. Please call me, if you get this message. If you don’t want to call, I understand.” Another pause and Diane almost thought he’d hung up, until he blurted out his phone number and ended with a nervous, “Goodbye.”

Click.

Diane pressed her hands into the bench, their shaking almost frightening in its intensity. Nick called her. Nick. Called _her_. On New Year’s Eve, just hours after she’d resolved to call him.

Taking a deep breath, Diane pushed off the bench, forgetting about the tea as she played the message again. She checked her watch as the timestamp played – the message was only fifteen minutes old. How far ahead was London? Several hours at least, which meant…had he called her at midnight on New Year’s Eve?

Diane blinked, not hearing Nick’s words as she tried to remember. If London was six hours ahead, Nick called her at his midnight. That would make sense. Absently, she pressed play, listening to his voice again. He was definitely nervous. This was the Nick she’d met on the bus, uncertain and rambling a little.

She adored him.

Hands shaking, Diane played the message again, copying down his phone number, and _again_ , checking it was right.

It was.

_I should pour a drink first._

Diane blinked. _No,_ she told herself. _No more excuses. If you call him now he will be home and probably awake. He wanted you to call._

Without allowing herself to pause, Diane picked up the phone and dialled Nick’s number.


	7. ...and look 'round

“Nick Marson,” he answered almost immediately.

Between hearing his voice and answering, Diane wondered if he’d been sitting by the phone. Waiting for a call. _Waiting for me?_

“Hello, Nick,” she said quietly.

“Diane,” he breathed.

There was silence down the line for a long time. Diane had no idea what to say. _Why did you call? Why now? Is there something important you need to tell me?_

“I’m glad you called,” he said.

“I was at the grocery store,” Diane said. She winced. Nick didn’t want to hear about the mundane details of her life.

“Was it busy?” Nick asked. “Early evening of New Year’s Eve.”

“Yes,” Diane said. “Very.” Her mouth kept speaking without permission. “I don’t know why I went, to be honest. I figured it would be busy.”

“Are you doing anything later?” Nick asked.

“No,” Diane said. _Please don’t ask me why._ “Did you do anything this evening?”

“No,” Nick replied. “It’s past midnight here.”

“Right,” Diane said.

More silence, this time even more awkward as Diane imagined all the things she wanted to say but couldn’t shape her mouth around.

“How’s David?” Nick asked.

“He’s well,” Diane said. “It was his birthday last week.”

“Christmas baby?” Nick asked.

“Christmas Eve,” Diane agreed. “But we don’t call it that. We call it David’s birthday.”

“Ah,” Nick said and Diane could tell he didn’t really understand why.

“Have you travelled for work lately?” Diane asked, wincing at the impersonal question. The personal ones were too big to talk about right now. This seemed like a safe topic. She reminded herself of this until Nick drew a deep breath to reply.

“No,” Nick said. “I’m not…I don’t work there anymore.”

“You don’t?” Diane asked. A pang of sadness hit her in the belly. _Such a big change and you didn’t call me. Did you think I wouldn’t care?_

“No,” Nick said, his voice apologetic. “I…actually I start a new job soon. I’ll have to move. To be closer to the office.”

“Oh,” Diane said, her mind still asking questions about his job. His old job.

“Diane,” Nick started, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up at his tone. This was why he called. Whatever he was going to say, this was the reason he had called.

“Yes?” she whispered, half anticipating, half dreading his news.

_He’s sick. He’s moving further from Dallas. He’s changed jobs completely. He’s met someone._

_Oh no. Please not that._

“My new job is in Dallas,” Nick said.

Diane blinked. “What?” she said blankly.

“My new job is in Dallas,” Nick repeated. “I start on the fourteenth of January.”

“Oh,” she whispered. A new set of questions rolled through her head. “When…when are you coming?” She blinked, more questions occurring to her. “Where are you staying? Who is picking you up from the airport? Will you have a car? Do you know anyone in Dallas? Why Dallas?” She drew a deep breath, pressing her hand to her mouth to stop the worlds tumbling out. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Nick said. “I leave London in the next few days. The company is arranging everything, at least in the short term.”

Diane nodded, still reeling from the news. “Can I…” she swallowed, forcing the words out. “Can I see you?”

“Yes,” Nick said immediately. “That would be…yes please.”

“I can pick you up from the airport if you like,” Diane blurted. Her heart was thumping. “If you’d like a friendly face.”

Nick paused, and Diane wondered if she’d overstepped the mark. Did he consider them friends? Lovers? Something else? In the past, perhaps?

“That would be nice,” he said, “if it’s not too much trouble.”

_I would move mountains._

“No,” Diane said. “Not at all.”

Nick gave her the flight details, suppressing a yawn at the end of his sentence.

“I should let you go,” Diane said. “It’s much later there.”

“It is,” Nick said. “I’m glad you called, Diane.”

“I’m glad _you_ called,” Diane replied.

The silence this time was less awkward, but there was a heaviness of expectation Diane recognised. _Where do we stand? What will it be like when we see each other? Will you kiss me? Can I kiss you?_

“I’ll see you on the fifth,” Nick said.

“Good night,” Diane said. _I’ve missed you._

“Good night,” Nick replied. “Happy New Year.”

+++

Nick was sitting by the phone, wondering if it was a mistake to leave such a garbled message on Diane’s answering machine, when it rang.

He picked up and answered automatically. Diane’s voice greeted him, and his heart jumped into overdrive immediately.

“Diane,” he breathed.

There was silence down the line for a long time, and Nick wondered if they had been disconnected. Taking a deep breath, he took a chance.

“I’m glad you called,” he said lamely.

“I was at the grocery store,” Diane said. _Something to ask her about. A detail of her life to savour._

“Was it busy?” Nick asked. “Early evening of New Year’s Eve.”

“Yes,” Diane said. “Very.” She embellished a bit and Nick found himself smiling at the details, at the soft lilt of her accent. _I’d forgotten how lovely it is just to listen to her talk._

Diane admitted she had no plans for the evening, and Nick found himself glad neither had pressed for details. _Perhaps we both wanted to stay in for the same reason._

“How’s David?” Nick asked.

“He’s well,” Diane said. “It was his birthday last week.”

“Christmas baby?” Nick asked.

“Christmas Eve,” Diane agreed. “But we don’t call it that. We call it David’s birthday.”

“Ah,” Nick said. He had no idea why that was important, but from the tone in her voice it was.

Before he could think of something else to ask her, Diane asked about his work, and Nick found himself facing the very reason he’d wanted to speak to Diane in the first place. He took a deep breath. _Please don’t think I didn’t want to talk to you about this._

He stammered through her questions before a moment presented itself.

“Diane,” Nick started, then paused, swallowing hard.

“Yes?” she whispered and he might have imagined the anticipation in her tone.

“My new job is in Dallas,” Nick blurted.

“What?” Diane asked.

“My new job is in Dallas,” Nick repeated, his heart thumping. “I start on the fourteenth of January.”

“Oh,” Diane whispered. She started asking questions, more than Nick could answer all at once. He seized on the important one – when he was arriving in Dallas.

There was silence for a moment, and Nick wondered what Diane was thinking. “Can I…” she swallowed, forcing the words out. “Can I see you?”

_Thank God._

“Yes,” Nick said immediately, the reply clumsy in his mouth. When she offered to pick him up from the airport, Nick didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh with relief. He accepted immediately, already anticipating seeing her at the airport. She insisted it was fine, and he hoped she couldn’t hear the yawn as he finished speaking.

“I should let you go,” Diane said. “It’s much later there.”

_I would talk with you all night._

“It is,” Nick said. “I’m glad you called, Diane.”

“I’m glad _you_ called,” Diane replied.

The silence this time was less awkward, but Nick still wondered how things would be when he arrived in Dallas. Surely things would take some time to return to how they had been. _Where do we stand? What will it be like when we see each other? Will you kiss me? Can I kiss you?_

“I’ll see you on the fifth,” Nick said. _I’m counting the hours._

“Good night,” Diane said.

“Good night,” Nick replied. “Happy New Year.”

_I’ve missed you._


	8. On The Edge

Diane stood in the Arrivals hall at the airport, twisting her hands together nervously. She was glad Nick’s plane arrived late in the afternoon; they could go to dinner then their separate ways if things were too awkward. She ran her fingers through her hair again, wondering if she should have done more with it. Or less. Nick had commented on it when she’d had no shampoo for three days, so it was unlikely the state of her hair would make or break their relationship, but still, she worried. It was something she could concentrate on, rather than the steady flow of people-who-weren’t-Nick coming through the doors.

His plane had landed almost an hour ago. Surely it wouldn’t take that long to get through customs? Diane hadn’t flown since September, so she didn’t know how much things had changed. She told herself that he might have more questions to ask, given that he had a British passport and was planning on working here. If the plane was full, and there were other flights landing customs would be busy. His bag might have been mislaid, or he could have checked it in first and it would be the last one off the-

Oh.

There he was.

Nick walked out of the doors and stood uncertainly in the busy space, eyes scanning the crowd. Diane noticed he had a large suitcase as well as his carry-on. He really was planning to stay, she thought absently. Taking a deep breath, Diane started to make her way through the crowd towards Nick. It took a few seconds and she hoped he didn’t think she hadn’t shown up.

Finally he spotted her, and she could walk the last few metres towards him, their eyes locked on each other. The noise around them seemed to recede, and Diane swallowed hard before smiling nervously. 

His eyes were the exact colour she remembered.

“Hello, Nick,” she said quietly.

+++

Nick looked around, eyes hoping to land on Diane in this crowd. His fingers tightened on his suitcase, heart thumping. It had taken forever to get through customs, and his suitcase was one of the last to appear. It was his own fault, checking in at Heathrow as soon as the gates opened. Before speaking to Diane he’d barely started packing, but after their conversation he’d been too wired to sleep, instead writing a long list of tasks to complete.

By the day of his flight he was jumping at his own shadow. Poor sleep and days’ worth of anticipation made him so concerned about missing his flight he arrived far too early, impatient to get going. The flight itself was fine; he’d paid for a business class seat, wanting the extra leg room and appreciating the quieter space. He dozed, but as soon as they were over American soil, his mind started up again and he could barely contain his anticipation and a mild sense of dread. He had no idea what Diane thought of him coming to live in Dallas. Did she think they were…friends? Lovers? Something else?

Now, standing in the Arrivals hall, Nick forced himself to be still, to look at the mass of people and trust that Diane had showed up to collect him. Surely she wouldn’t have changed her mind? Before that idea could take flight, Nick spotted her, ducking through the crowd, eyes pinned on him.

When he met her eyes, Nick’s heart galloped. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and her smile was exactly the same.

“Hello, Nick,” she said, her voice almost lost in the crowd.

“Hello,” he replied. He leaned forward, almost moving to hug her, but he restrained himself. What if she didn’t want him to? Instead, he gave her another smile. “Thank you for picking me up.”

+++

For a second, Diane thought he was going to kiss her. His weight shifted, and she felt her eyes widen…but then he didn’t, instead thanking her for coming.

_ Wishful thinking. _

“Of course,” she said. “Do you have everything?”

“I do,” he said. “Another case is coming next week. Most of my things are going into storage.”

“Right,” Diane said, and they concentrated for a moment on winding their way through the crowd towards the exit. “Where are you staying?”

Nick patted his pockets, looking for his paperwork. “I haven’t even looked,” he admitted. He took a sealed envelope from his inner pocket.

Once they were settled in her car, he tore the envelope open, studying the papers with an increasingly worried look on his face.

“What?” Diane asked. He glanced at her, and she looked at him, bewildered. “What is it?”

“Whoever made my reservation did so in Dallas, Georgia,” Nick said, his voice confused.

“Georgia?” Diane asked. That didn’t make any sense. “But we’re in Texas.”

“Yes,” Nick replied, “but there’s another Dallas in Georgia, and it has a Hilton hotel too, apparently.”

“Oh,” Diane said. She had no idea what to say. “Do you want to call work? Or the hotel?” 

“Both, I think,” Nick said. He hesitated, then asked apologetically, “I don’t have a mobile phone that works, could I…”

“Of course!” Diane said, fumbling in her bag for her phone. She passed it over, watching as Nick dialled a number from his address book. She tried not to listen, but it was impossible not to hear his end of the conversation.

“I’ll need to find somewhere else,” Nick said, frowning. “I’m not sure they see the problem.”

Diane had heard him explain that Georgia was too far to commute. “So what are you going to do?” she asked.

“Well, maybe if I go to the Hilton in Dallas they’ll have a room for me,” he said. He handed her phone back, their fingers brushing, and Diane swallowed. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course,” Diane said. Nick gave her the address and they drove over, she almost silent as she concentrated, though a large part of her brain was definitely distracted by Nick’s presence. She couldn’t really tell for sure but the possibility of his scent drifting on the air around her made conversation difficult.

When they arrived, Diane hesitated as they walked into the lobby. “I’ll wait here,” she said, and he smiled briefly before striding over to the desk.

Nick stared at the receptionist. “You don’t have a single room?” he asked in disbelief.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “The New Year’s crowd is still here, and there are several large conferences in town. Everywhere is really busy at the moment.” She shrugged, handing his booking details back. “I know this is for the wrong hotel, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Nick nodded. “Thank you for your time,” he said absently, stepping away from the desk. He stood looking out the window for a second, wondering what to do. He could call another hotel – surely there would be a room somewhere? – but he couldn’t drag Diane all over the city, or make her wait ages while he made call after call.

He flexed his hand, still feeling their fingers brush where he’d passed her phone back earlier. Had she felt it too? He sighed. _I’ve messed this up already._

Steeling himself for the awkward conversation, Nick ducked back over to where Diane had seated herself on one of the sofas. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he said.

“It’s fine,” she replied with a smile. He took a second to watch her smile before she spoke again. “What did they say?”

“They’re booked out,” Nick admitted. “Apparently there are a few things on in town and it might be difficult to get a room.”

Diane looked surprised, then disappointed, but she didn’t say anything.

_ This is inconvenient enough for her. _

“So I might take my things out here, and I can start calling around and see if there’s a room free somewhere,” Nick continued, trying to smile at the thought. “And later-”

“Come and stay with me,” Diane said. The words were barely out of her mouth when she looked as startled as he felt. 

_ You didn’t plan to say that, did you? _

“I begyour pardon?” Nick said, the words automatic as he tried to process what she’d just said. Had she offered him to stay with her?

He watched Diane, as the surprise morphed into embarrassment…and then determination.

“Stay with me,” she repeated, the pink high on her cheeks brightening her complexion. “I have plenty of room,” her voice faltered and Nick hoped he didn’t look upset.

+++

Diane swallowed, waiting for Nick’s reaction. She had most definitely not intended to offer him to stay at her place; the words had been as big a surprise to her as they had been to him. The attempt at good spirits beforehand had not fooled her; it sounded awful, calling around to find a hotel room at short notice when he was supposed to have somewhere already sorted.

“If you’re sure,” Nick said carefully, his eyes still on Diane.

“I am,” she said, and the words felt like a risk. Like she was telling him…something important, even if she didn’t know quite what it was. _I want to see you again._

“Well that’s very kind,” Nick said, and this time his smile made it to his eyes. To Diane’s surprise he placed his hand over hers on the arm of her chair. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she whispered. His hand was warm, and before he could pull away she placed her free hand over his, not wanting the contact to end, for a moment at least. “Well, we should go,” she said finally, though it was still reluctantly that she drew her hands back. It might have been her imagination that Nick took a little longer than he really could have, too.

“Yes,” Nick said. They didn’t speak until they were back in Diane’s car again.

“How was your flight?” Diane asked. She couldn’t sit in this silence; it was too tense, and even the generic question was better than nothing.

“Not bad,” Nick said. He glanced at her. “Didn’t end up in Newfoundland, so that’s a positive.”

Diane felt a smile bloom across her face despite her tension. “I don’t know,” she countered, “you meet some nice people up there. So I’ve heard.”

“Indeed,” Nick replied, and though she was driving, Diane could hear the smile in his voice.

+++

The drive to Diane’s house took them out of the centre of the city into the suburbs. Nick had never ventured out here on his previous trips to Dallas. It was nice, he thought. So much more space than anywhere in London.

When they arrived Diane took his carry-on while he wrestled the enormous suitcase up her front stairs. “The guest room’s along here,” Diane said as the door closed behind them. Nick barely took in any of the house, though he was curious about Diane’s taste. The unasked question was answered. _Where will I sleep?_

“Thank you,” Nick said again, as he propped his suitcase by the door of the guest room. He stood a little awkwardly as Diane found towels and told him the bed had clean sheets.

“Bathroom’s across from you,” Diane said, pointing out doorways. “Study, hall to the kitchen, master bedroom.” 

_ Diane’s bedroom.  _ Nick hoped the warmth in his cheeks wasn’t visible.

“Well, it’s later than I thought,” Diane said, glancing at her watch. “I thought we might go out, but you’re still working six hours ahead, so maybe we should just order in?”

“Certainly,” Nick replied immediately. “Anything is fine.”

“Well, why don’t I order something while you get settled,” she said. The awkwardness was settling around them again, and Nick didn’t know what to do other than agreeing with her.

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

He turned towards the spare bedroom but watched Diane walk back towards the kitchen. This was all slightly surreal. He was in Dallas, where he lived now. In Diane’s house. Staying in her house, in fact, a single wall separating his bedroom from hers.

It felt like more of a barrier than the whole Atlantic Ocean.

It wasn’t as close as Gander yet it felt far more intimate. 

The contradiction of it was confusing, but true.

Nick busied himself unpacking some of his clothes – hanging up shirts and trousers – and finding his wet bag. When he came across the file of paperwork – the important documents he’d brought in his carry-on – he tucked them carefully back into the suitcase, not wanting to lose anything so soon after arriving. He changed his shirt, feeling self-conscious in the blue he knew was the same colour as his eyes, then headed for the bathroom.


	9. local delicacies

Diane picked up the phone and placed their order automatically. She hadn’t even asked Nick what he wanted; in fact, she was fairly sure she’d ordered what she and David usually wanted from the good Tex-Mex place a few streets over. Oh well, it would do.

She could hear Nick moving around and shook her head at the incongruity of it. Nick was here. In Dallas, where he lived now. And he was staying in her house. In the guest room, but still. Diane was relieved she always kept clean sheets on that bed. She wondered if Nick had assumed she was offering her own bed? The idea made her heart race. She’d worried about it the whole way home, but in the end decided on the more innocuous option. Nick might have meant to kiss her at the airport – but he hadn’t. And she hadn’t kissed him either.

But when he’d placed his hand over hers at the hotel, her whole body had reacted. Had the same thing happened to him? She had no idea, but it was hardly the kind of thing she could ask. Not without bringing up a whole lot of things. Things she wasn’t quite ready to deal with yet. They needed more time to figure out where they were right now before they could begin to work on the future.

Diane looked around the kitchen. She was restless for something to do, but the same energy had fuelled her over the past few days and the whole house was spotless. She could set the table, at least. That filled a few moments until she decided to find a vase for the flowers David had brought that morning. They hadn’t spoken since the new year and he was apologetic that he’d upset her, which made her feel even worse. The flowers were beautiful, though, and she hadn’t given them enough thought at the time.

“They’re lovely,” Nick’s voice sounded behind her, and Diane turned, startled. Nick was standing in the doorway, the clean shirt bringing out the blue of his eyes so clearly Diane stopped for a second. _What was I doing?_ She glanced down at the vase she thankfully had not dropped. _Right. Flowers._

“From David,” she said, picking up and arranging the bright blooms. “We had an argument at new year.”

Nick raised one eyebrow, his interest carefully muted. “Really,” he murmured, seating himself on a stool at the breakfast bar.

+++

He’d startled her, he could see; she’d been reaching for a vase for the flowers on the bench behind her. His heart stuttered for a moment before resuming, and his comment was deliberately light.

When she said they were from David, he knew he blew out the breath he’d been holding. _Not a suitor, then._

“David’s been…worried,” Diane admitted, watching her hands as they fussed with the flowers. Nick didn’t want to push the conversation, but he could see the frown she was trying hard to hide.

“Has he?” Nick asked carefully. “About anything in particular?”

Diane looked up, giving him a half-smile. “Me,” she admitted. A moment of stillness passed, and Nick could hear his pulse. _Why? Why has he been worried about you? Have you been unwell? Unhappy?_

He swallowed, but before he could say anything, Diane shook herself and picked up the flowers, smiling brightly.

“I’ll put these over here,” she said, leaving the arrangement on the end of the kitchen bench. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Nick wanted to go back, but Diane was obviously determined not to continue that line of conversation and the last thing he wanted to do was alienate her. “Whatever you’re having,” he said. “Though nothing with caffeine, I think.”

Diane winced as she took a bottle of soda water from the fridge. “You must be tired,” she said. “Did you sleep on the plane?”

“A little,” Nick replied. “Not enough, I think.” He accepted the soda and lime she placed in front of him, wondering if she’d avoided giving it directly to him so they wouldn’t touch. “I’ll do my best to acclimatise quickly, but if I’m up early in the mornings I apologise if I disturb you.”

_Does your hand still tingle as mine does after that moment at the hotel?_

Diane smiled. “I’m sure it will be fine,” she said.

Before the conversation could continue – although in what direction, Nick had no idea – the doorbell rang. “Excuse me,” Diane murmured. She returned in a moment with several bags. “I didn’t even ask what you’d like,” she said apologetically. “So I just ordered what we usually eat. It’s Tex-Mex. I hope that’s okay.”

Nick smiled. _Anything you chose is fine._ “I’m sure it will be,” he said. “If I’m going to live here I suppose I should eat what the locals eat.”

“Like toutons?” Diane said. From the surprised look on her face she had not meant to say that.

Nick froze, looking at Diane. It was the first reference either had made to Gander. What should he say?

+++

Diane froze, looking at Nick. Why had she said that? Her brain was on vacation again, or too busy watching Nick’s mouth as it opened to drink the soda. What would he say?

“Like toutons,” he said finally. “Though I’m guessing they’re not common here.”

“No,” Diane agreed. She indicted the table. “We should sit down.”

“Of course,” Nick replied.

Diane took her time opening the food, her fingers as clumsy as Nick was patient. “Okay, do you want me to tell you what everything is?”

He looked astonished, she thought, as he surveyed the meal. “Yes,” he said. The smile he flashed at her made her heart flip. “Though I’m not sure I’ll remember what it’s all called.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Diane said with a smile. “Okay, we’ve got all the makings of fajitas. Tortillas, steak and onions and peppers, rice, refried beans. Guacamole, cheese, sour cream, salsa.” She glanced up to see Nick’s eyes wide behind his glasses. “You build your own. With whatever you like in.”

“Okay,” Nick said, though he didn’t look convinced. Diane’s heart flipped again and she had to resist the urge to kiss him. _I hate not being able to do that._

“Here, start with this,” she said, passing him a tortilla. “None of it’s too spicy.” She frowned. “Well, I don’t think it is. They know how we like the salsa so they send it over like that…but I don’t know how spicy you usually enjoy.”

“I might not have eaten much of…what is this called?” Nick asked, carefully adding peppers to his tortilla.

“Tex-Mex,” Diane replied, taking a tortilla for herself.

“Tex-Mex,” he repeated carefully. Diane couldn’t help smiling as his accent shaped the words differently. “I might be new to this,” he repeated, “but there is a lot of Indian takeout in London. And it can be really, really hot.”

“Is that what you usually order?” Diane asked. “Indian?”

“When I order out, yes,” Nick replied. He watched as Diane folded her fajita, copying her carefully. “I used to cook a lot. Before I worked so much.” He took a bite of his fajita, nodding at Diane in tentative approval.

Diane nodded back, storing the detail about Nick away in her head. She liked knowing that about him. They hadn’t really talked about it when they were in Gander – or she didn’t remember. “So do you think you’ll cook more now that you’re here? Working less?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said. “It depends on where I’m living.”

“Oh,” Diane replied. _Where will you be living?_ The reminder that he wasn’t here forever came with a little stab of pain. She ate for a few moments before asking, “Do you not know that yet?”

“I’ll call the office tomorrow,” he said. “Given the mistake with my hotel, I’m hoping someone else organised my long term accommodation.” He took another fajita and Diane smiled to herself.

_He likes Tex-Mex. That’s a great start._

Diane smiled. “Can’t be worse than a classroom floor,” she said. Her heart beat hard at her deliberate mention of Gander again. This time she had definitely done it on purpose.

+++

Nick studied Diane’s face as he spooned rice, relaxing when he realised she’d made the reference on purpose. “No,” he said, warmth blooming in his chest at her smile. “I suppose not.”

Their eyes held each other for a long beat, and Nick wanted to lean over and kiss her so much it took his breath away. His heart thumped slow and hard for a moment until Diane looked down at her plate. He wondered if the pink in her cheeks was in his mind, or… _Did you feel it too? That moment?_

The rest of the meal passed quietly. The food was good, if different to what he was accustomed to. The clean-up was easy, bundling left-overs into the fridge and empty containers into the rubbish, and suddenly they were standing together in the kitchen, no meal to distract them or driving to excuse them not meeting each other’s eyes.

“I think I’ll turn in,” Nick said. He wanted to stay up but his body had a different idea; he was exhausted from the flight, the time difference and the anxiety from the unknown of what the day would bring.

“Of course,” Diane said, and he thought he saw a flash of disappointment. “Help yourself to anything you want if you get up before I do.” She gestured to a drawer. “Tea and coffee, milk in the fridge. Whatever you like in the pantry.”

“Thank you,” Nick murmured. _You sound nervous._ He hesitated. _Should I hug her goodnight? Kiss her goodnight?_ Neither seemed like a particularly good idea, so he said instead, “It’s good to see you again.” He hesitated, then pushed on, “I wasn’t sure you would want to.”

Diane’s eyes widened at his words, and she swallowed. “I did,” she said quietly.

_I am so glad you did. I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t._

“Well, good night,” Nick said, the words feeling awkward and insufficient. He lingered another moment, but when Diane didn’t move he flashed a quick smile and headed to the guest room, closing the door quietly behind him.

+++

Diane’s fingernails pressed into her palms as she watched Nick walk out of the kitchen.

_I should have hugged him. Or kissed him._

He’d been thinking it too, she was certain; the awkwardness was palpable, and took her right back to Gander, that last day when she knew they had both been too scared to do anything. Their quiet intimate conversation on the plane had revealed that; Nick admitted it first and Diane followed, and they’d kissed after, his hands on her face as though she was the most precious thing he’d ever encountered…

And now he’d said good night with only a quick smile, leaving to sleep in her guest room.

Regret filled her heart, and Diane had the irrational thought that she should just knock on his door and invite him into her bed. Or kiss him. Or hug him, see how he reacted. Did he even want that? Why else would he be here?

_Because if he moved here and ran into you without talking to you first it would be incredibly awkward, and you asked to see him first, and offered to pick him up from the airport, and when he had nowhere to stay you offered your guest room._

Diane groaned.

_Jesus._

She’d been too forward. Too pushy, and now it was awkward because he didn’t want this to pick up from where they left off.

Shaking her head, Diane headed into her study. She needed to write to Nick. It had become a habit now, telling him about her day, and there was a sizable collection of letters tucked into her bottom drawer.

_Saturday January 5, 2002_

_Dear Nick,_

_You’re in my house. In the guest room, just one wall away. I wanted to kiss you at the airport, at the hotel, in the hall, in the kitchen…everywhere. I thought you were going to kiss me over dinner, but you didn’t. I can’t tell any more what’s in my head and what’s real. I’ve thought about seeing you again for so long, but it feels all wrong. There were a couple of moments, when one of us mentioned Gander and the old spark was there, but the rest…it was like we were playing at slightly different speeds, not quite able to catch up with each other._

_But I’ll see you tomorrow._

_Maybe things will work better._

_Your eyes are exactly the same. I remembered exactly right._

_With love from the room next door,_

_Diane._

+++  
In the guest room, Nick was sitting on the edge of the bed, berating himself for leaving the evening there. _I should have kissed her. Or hugged her. Figured out where we stood._

He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes before replacing them.

 _Does she even believe the story about the wrong hotel?_ It was true of course, and he’d been mortified when it happened, but it was the kind of thing you read in some terrible romance about long distance lovers. It certainly never happened in real life. Not that most of their story was particularly normal, but surely.

He sighed. _I need to write a letter._

There was no desk in this room, so Nick arranged himself awkwardly on the bedside table. He’d packed his stationery before his passport, the letters had become so important to him. Uncapping his pen, he tried to organise his thoughts.

_Saturday 5 January, 2002_

_Dear Diane,_

_I’m sitting here in your home. All the worry I’ve held about how things would be when we saw each other, and it’s been better and worse at the same time. Some moments I almost kissed you. I shook with wanting to, but I couldn’t tell if you wanted me to or if I was projecting my desire. You know I would not hurt you, my dear, and I know I must be patient. It might take time for us to find the dynamic we once had._

_Once I thought you might kiss me, but you did not. We both mentioned Gander in passing, and those moments felt right, like we were back in the old rhythm, instead of this one that’s slightly off kilter. There’s only one wall between us, and I hoped for a few moments you would follow me. Knock on my door and I would open it to find you there, and you’d hug me, or kiss me, and this dreadful anticipation would cease to be._

_But we have tomorrow. I hope we can find our rhythm again._

_Your smile is as radiant as ever._

_With love, as always,_

_Nick_

With a sigh, Nick rubbed again at his eyes. He really did have to go to sleep.


	10. 4am is breakfast time

It was early – really early, and Nick remembered this was the worst part about jetlag. He’d always been good at staying up later than he should, but forcing himself to sleep was simply impossible. So without enough hours sleep in his body, and with his conscious brain telling him he should be resting, Nick rose anyway. There was no point in fighting it, he wasn’t going to enjoy lying here for another few hours until it was a reasonable time to get up. It was still dark outside, and he remembered it was good to acclimatise your body to the natural rhythm of sunrise and sunset in the place you were staying.

The kitchen would be a good start, so he dressed, leaving his feet bare and his belt on the dresser. The door squeaked a little as it opened and he winced, but there wasn’t another sound in the house so he probably hadn’t woken Diane. Nick made his way into the kitchen, opening the blinds to the dark world and turning on only one light so he could see. He filled the kettle and set it to start as he pulled a mug from the drawer. Usually he started his day with coffee, but only from the place on the corner; never from his own kitchen. It was probably a snobbish thing but he didn’t care. Right now, he chose a teabag, draping it into his mug before leaning on the bench and listening to the quiet sounds of the water beginning to heat.

By the time he was sitting at the table with tea and the carton of milk, Nick was overwhelmed by his memories of Gander. He and Diane had spent hours talking at night, endless mugs of tea in their hands. He didn’t remember everything they’d said but he remembered her expressions, the way her fingers didn’t reach all the way around the mug, the delicate way she wiped at her lip after taking a sip of tea.

How they’d both loved watching the milk swirl into the dark tea.

“Good morning.” Diane’s voice came from the doorway and Nick almost dropped the milk at the sound.

“Good morning,” he replied. _She’s wearing a robe. Over pyjamas or some kind of sleeping clothes, no doubt._ “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No,” Diane said, then added, “Well, a little. I’m not used to having someone else here. I suspect you could have been the quietest person in the world and I would have woken up.”

“Can I make you a cup of tea?” Nick asked. He wanted to comment that it was a lot different to Gander – emptier and quieter without a bunch of people – but he hesitated.

“Yes please,” she replied. There was something relaxed about her, Nick thought as he found another mug and another teabag. Perhaps it was the hour, or the fact that neither was dressed properly, but he found himself smiling more fondly that he’d dared the previous day.

“I was just about to do the milk,” Nick said.

“I noticed,” Diane replied.

The smile they shared was remarkably different, Nick thought; it was almost intimate, as they both watched the tea and milk swirl together into one in their mugs.

“Like Gander,” Diane said quietly.

“Yes,” Nick replied. “You remember,” he added.

“Of course I do,” Diane said. She opened her mouth to say something else, then closed it.

Nick tried to keep his expression neutral. _Don’t hold it in, dear heart. Say what’s on your mind._

“Hard to forget,” Diane added.

“It was certainly memorable,” Nick agreed. “Although I’m sure there are details I’ve forgotten.”

“But not the tea,” Diane asked.

_She wouldn’t have asked that last night._

+++

_I wouldn’t have asked that last night._

“No,” Nick replied calmly. “Not the tea.”

_He wouldn’t have replied like that last night._

It was as though the early hour had smoothed their ruffled edges, and Nick and Diane had slipped back into the long quiet hours at night they’d shared in Gander. She could feel herself less anxious about what was happening, even when she’d woken to the sound of the blinds in the kitchen being drawn. It was Nick, obviously, and she’d not even bothered getting dressed; somehow at four AM, a robe was perfectly acceptable.

_My life was empty and quiet. You can be as loud as you like._

Nick was dressed, but his feet were bare and his shirt untucked. It was as casual as he was likely to get in someone else’s house, Diane mused. He looked less worried, too, and she wondered if he felt the same blanket of protection around these precious night time hours.

“What do you remember the most?” Nick asked.

Diane considered the question.

_You._

Her immediate answer was obviously no good, so she tried again. “The people,” she said. “Not individuals, but the whole,” she waved one hand, “way they were. So friendly, and helpful,” she smiled. “And the food. How could I ever forget all that food?”

Nick smiled. “I remember the food too,” he admitted. “Toutons.”

“Toutons,” Diane agreed. It was so strange making references to Gander with someone that understood them, after so many months of having given up.

_Like talking to him in person after writing letters._

“It’s strange talking about Gander,” Nick said suddenly. “Nobody in London knew. Understood, I mean, about the food, or the people, or the fish…”

“The fish,” Diane agreed. “Cod tongue.” She shuddered theatrically, and looked at Nick. He looked confused, as though she’d misunderstood, but it soon cleared.

“Yes,” he said. “Cod tongue.”

The conversation continued, still quiet but more and more easy as the time passed. Diane made another round of tea for them, and slowly the sky began to lighten. And still, Diane thought, they’d managed to talk about everything that happened in Gander except the two things she wanted to talk about.

The screech-in, and the flight home.

_The thing I don’t entirely remember and the thing I remember most clearly._

“Well, it looks like the day’s beginning,” Diane said finally, the sun finally streaming through the window.

“I should go for a walk,” Nick said. “Apparently exposure to natural light will help reset my body clock.”

“Okay,” Diane said. She hesitated, unsure if she’d be welcome. “Did…do you want some company?”

His grin was wide and genuine and immediate. “Yes,” he said simply.

_That smile._

“You’ll need a coat,” Diane told him. “I know the sun’s coming up but it will be cold.”

“Okay,” Nick agreed.

They met back in the kitchen, pulling on coats and scarves. Diane was wearing a knit cap, and Nick had to restrain his smile at it.

_She looks adorable._

“All set?” she asked brightly.

“Yes,” he replied. “You take the lead.”

He followed her out of the house, and they started walking down the street, their breath visible in the cool morning air. It was so different to London, and yet he was barely concentrating on the streets; instead he was conscious of Diane beside him. By their last walk in Gander they’d been holding hands, though neither mentioned it until the plane.

_The plane._

They’d talked about a lot of their time in Gander. The new confidence he’d felt after Diane kissed him gave him the courage to admit the times he’d wanted to kiss her, or had thought she was especially captivating. She’d admitted similar thoughts, and Nick had felt himself more emotional than he’d been in a long time.

_She likes me. She thinks I’m attractive._

It was an unfamiliar feeling, being on the receiving end of such admissions, and Nick dealt with it the only way he knew; cupping her face and kissing her gently, pouring all his affection into the tender presses of his mouth to hers.

He hoped she understood.

“Are we…where are we heading?” Nick asked as they left the pavement for a gravel path.

“I like to walk around the lake,” Diane told him. She glanced up, smiling. “Do you remember the lake in Gander?”

Nick returned her smile, losing himself in it for a second before answering. “Of course.”

They’d walked around it twice, missing their exit the first time. Nick wondered if Diane had been too involved in their conversation to notice the sign. He knew he had been, and when she suggested continuing for a second lap he wasn’t going to complain.

“How far around?” Nick said.

“Too far for two laps,” Diane told him.

+++

_Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the two laps._

Nick looked startled at the reference, then he broke into a chuckle. “Well, it’s up to you to know where we came in,” he said. “It’s your home pitch, after all.”

Diane frowned. “Home pitch?” she said.

“Ah,” Nick said. “Football. English football, that is.”

“Right,” Diane said, grinning. “We call it soccer over here.”

“I know,” Nick said, wincing, and Diane couldn’t help laughing at the pained expression on his face.

“I didn’t realise you were into the soccer…sorry, football,” she said.

“I’m not, really,” Nick said, “but the phrases work themselves into your vocabulary.” He sighed dramatically. “And I suppose I’ll have to be now I’m living over here. Token Englishman must be interested in football.”

“If you’re into stereotypes,” Diane said with a grin. This was more like the conversations they’d shared in Gander. She was about to speak again when she stopped suddenly, automatically grabbing for Nick’s arm to stop him too.

“What?” he asked.

“Shhh!” she said, eyes fixed on the tree ahead. In the moment she’d reacted instinctively, but now it occurred to her that she was far closer to Nick than they had been at any point in Dallas.

_Oh God._

“What?” Nick repeated, though he whispered this time. He’d also ducked his head closer to hers, and Diane had to swallow hard at the swirl of Nick-scented air that washed over her. He was so close, if she turned her head towards him, tilted up a little…

“Parakeets,” she managed. Carefully, she raised her hand, pointing at the small green birds. “Look.”

“Oh,” Nick breathed, and Diane closed her eyes for a second as his fingers found hers and tightened. The chattering birds were difficult to see but easy to hear now that they’d stopped, but their noise had to compete with her heart pounding in her ears.

Diane had no idea how long they stood like that – it couldn’t have been more than a few moments, but something startled the birds and they flew away.

“Are they native to this area?” Nick asked.

They were still standing close, and Diane was exceptionally aware that Nick had not moved other than to stand up a little. She was pressed against him, both hands clutching his arm through his thick winter coat.

_I’ve missed this._

“Yes,” she answered, flashing him a grin. “Well, no, they’re from South America, but this population lives here. People used to keep them for pets in the ‘50s and ‘60s and some escaped and formed a colony here.”

Nick nodded, and as he shifted his weight to move forward, Diane held her breath. She moved, not wanting to let him go.

+++

_She’s still holding onto my arm._

They were walking again, but now Diane had one hand tucked into his elbow, and Nick was not complaining. It meant they had to move more slowly, and she was warm beside him; he glanced down and realised both her hands were on his arm, her body pressed to his.

_Oh God._

“Do you see the parakeets often?” Nick asked.

“Depends how quiet you are,” Diane said. “I’m surprised we saw that pair, actually.”

Nick nodded, not sure what else to say about non-native parakeet populations. They instead walked together in silence.

_I remember this too. The silence was nice. Comfortable._

For all the hours they’d talked, there had been plenty of quiet time, too. Not naturally verbose, Nick had appreciated it; the companionship without the need to fill every second with conversation felt like trust. And with so many other people around, the moments they could share without a background of chatter were special.

The sound of the gravel under their boots was a slow rhythm as they made their way slowly around the lake. Nick had no idea how far it was around the lake, but he would have kept walking happily for half a day. When Diane slowed as they reached a side path, he glanced down at her.

“This is us,” she said, slowing to a stop. “Unless you’d like to do another lap?”

Nick grinned. “Are you giving me the option?”

For some reason Diane flushed, and Nick felt his heart skip a beat.

_Why are you…_

She looked at him, her expression sheepish, and Nick’s heart skipped another beat. “What?” he asked. She didn’t answer immediately but he pushed, heart in his mouth as he said, “What?”

“In Gander,” Diane said, and Nick was holding his breath as he waited for her to finish, “I might have…deliberately missed out turnoff. So we could keep walking together.”

_Oh my God._

Nick blinked as Diane cringed before him, waiting for his reaction. “Why?” he asked, though the answer was probably obvious.

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, and the smile was genuine but he could see the tension behind it.

“No,” Nick said. “Well, I’m not sure, I didn’t want to assume…” he would have trailed off anyway, having no idea how to finish that sentence, but Diane laughed, stepped back from him.

“Come on,” she said with a smile. “I think we’ve earned a proper coffee.”

“Okay,” Nick replied automatically. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened. He blinked, almost missing a step as he realised he and Diane were holding hands as they walked back towards the street. He knew he’d reached for her, not wanting to let her go just because they were leaving the main trail. Had she reached too?

_She’s not letting go._

+++

_He’s not letting go._

Diane’s tension eased as they walked away from the lake, her hand in Nick’s. Walking along with him was wonderful, especially being so close after they’d spotted the parakeets.

She couldn’t believe when he’d commented about having the option to walk away from the lake. Diane felt her face flush, immediate and hot.

_Does he know? Did he know then that I missed the turnoff on purpose?_

When confusion clouded Nick’s face, Diane knew that he saw her reaction, and that he didn’t understand it. She was going to have to explain it. It took a deep breath and all the courage she had, looking up at Nick’s face, to admit she’d done it on purpose.

“Why?” he’d asked. Was he going to make her say it? Their conversations had been wonderful, of course, but the quiet times they’d spent walking around the lake together had settled her soul more than almost anything. As they’d approached the turn-off Nick had turned to ask her something, and she knew he’d watch her if she was talking – so she did. Not for long, but long enough so they were past the path.

She hoped he wasn’t upset – had tried for a smile as she teased him – but it didn’t feel right and from his expression, he wasn’t convinced. Her heart was thumping hard. Had she messed it up? Admitted to something that would open floodgates neither was quite prepared to open? Nick didn’t look upset, just a little unsure, and as she stepped away, Diane felt his hand reach out to stop her.

She didn’t even think. She reached out, taking his hand in hers and suggesting a coffee now that they’d had their walk. And he wasn’t letting go, his fingers curving around the shape of her hand as they walked. It felt perfect, she thought. Just like Gander.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a population of parakeets that inhabit the area around a lake in Dallas, and it's believed they were brought from South America in the 1950s and 60s as pets, only for some to escape and establish this colony.


	11. I am here

By the time they arrived back at Diane’s house, Nick’s head and heart were reeling. From the awkwardness of last night to their conversation this morning and the walk, hand-in-hand to the coffee shop, he was uncertain where they stood. Their conversation had flowed again, light and inconsequential, but each word soothed the bond between them. He needed to call work, conscious it was somewhat of an excuse, but Diane gracefully accepted his words. They’d parted hands as they walked into the house, and Nick found himself flexing his fingers, the loss of her hand in his more disconcerting than he would have thought.

Work was apologetic about the mistake with his accommodation; something about a new receptionist. Nick wasn’t too upset, given how things worked out, but he had made a note to check his accommodation in the future, should he need to travel. His secretary – he was fairly sure she worked for both the other executives on his level as well – assured him the lease on his flat (no, _apartment_ ) was all in order and he could move in the weekend before he started work. It was furnished; he’d just have to bring his personal belongings.

“And will you need to be reimbursed for your current accommodation?” Polly asked brightly.

“Ah,” Nick hesitated. “I’m staying with a friend.”

“Okay,” Polly said. “Well there’s a per diem until you start, so we can credit that to your bank account if you like.”

“Okay,” Nick said automatically. That was another problem; what was he going to do with that money? He didn’t want to offend Diane by offering it to her, but he would be staying in her house for over a week…

_Just talk to her about it._

Nick nodded to himself, finished the conversation with Polly and hung up. He sat back and sighed, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes again. It was mid-afternoon by now and he was starting to flag; his body was telling him it was bedtime, especially given how few hours of sleep he’d managed last night.

_Jet lag. Cup of tea will fix it._

As he waited for the kettle, Diane appeared, and Nick took out another mug, smiling without thought at her. He was hyperaware of her, wondering if the change in their dynamic from the morning would still be in effect.

_God, she’s beautiful._

“Thank you,” she said quietly, resting one hand on his arm as she passed. He was glad she didn’t see his fist clench once she was gone.

_Okay. We’re still doing that, then._

The milk in the tea, and Nick passed Diane her mug, watching as she accepted it, her fingers brushing against his. He smiled as he picked up his own mug, hiding it in the first sip of his tea.

+++

_He did that on purpose. Good._

Diane took a sip of her tea, which was too hot of course; she needed something to do with her hands. Leaving Nick to call work she’d had a shower, allowing herself two minutes to choose an outfit, then writing him a letter to pass a little more time. It made her sad, somehow, that he was in her kitchen and she was still writing to him. The morning’s walk had changed things dramatically, and as she finally heard him stand up and move around, Diane hoped fervently that they had not reverted in the short time they’d been apart.

Nick was making tea when she appeared, and she didn’t know if he was even aware how much he relaxed when he saw her. He’d been rubbing at his eyes, and she wanted to ask if he was alright, but when he slid his glasses back on his face and a smile blossomed at her, the words died in her throat.

_Oh, how I have missed you._

He pulled out an extra mug, and Diane walked behind him unnecessarily, deliberately touching his arm as she thanked him. He drawn in breath was audible but she didn’t turn, instead taking a seat at the breakfast bar and accepting the mug from him. Her fingers might have lingered longer than they should; he didn’t mind, and the smile he thought he hid in his mug was visible in his eyes.

_Please. Please let this be heading back to where we were._

“What did work say?” Diane asked, hoping for a light tone.

Nick made a face, lowering his tea to the bench. “My flat…apartment,” he corrected himself, “will be ready the weekend before I start.”

“Okay,” Diane replied.

“That’s over a week away,” Nick said, and he sounded apologetic.

“Fine,” Diane shrugged. She wasn’t sure of the problem, unless… “You can stay with me for as long as you need, Nick.”

_Stay a week. A month._

_Stay forever._

There was a pause before he replied. “They’ve offered me a per diem until the flat is ready.”

“Apartment,” Diane corrected with a gentle smile. Whatever he was trying to say was making him frown and she hoped her soft tease might ease his concern.

“Apartment,” he agreed. “Well, I told them I was staying with a friend and they still said they’d give it to me, so.”

Diane realised what he was saying. “No, you don’t have to pay me to stay here,” she said. The idea was ludicrous.

Nick’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Diane reached out, her hand landing on his. “You didn’t,” she told him.

Neither moved as her hand remained on his.

+++

Nick swallowed, the panic that had bloomed in his chest easing at her firm words, the weight of her hand on his and her eyes, wide and sincere.

He loved her eyes. Carefully, he eased his other hand free of his mug, placing it over hers on the bench. He hoped it wasn’t too warm where it had been cupping the warm ceramic. He hoped she didn’t pull away.

_I hope…_

It mustn’t have been too hot, because Diane didn’t pull away. She eased up from her chair, and Nick thought she might be leaving, but instead she pulled her chair around to the end of the bench. She settled closer so she could rest her hand on Nick’s without stretching across the table.

He wanted to drink to ease the dryness of his mouth but both his hands were occupied. Instead he looked at their hands, her small one dwarfed by his large ones. The silence in the kitchen was broken only by the hum of the refrigerator and a clock marking off the seconds. Eventually Nick had to ease his hand out from on top of hers to drink his tea. It was just the right amount of warm and he drank gratefully.

“What should we do this afternoon?” Diane asked.

“Did you have anything in mind?” Nick asked.

“No,” Diane replied. She didn’t sound entirely certain, and Nick turned his hand over, taking hers in his.

“I don’t mind what we do,” Nick said, hoping she caught his slight emphasis on the plural pronoun. _As long as it’s together,_ he wanted to add, but didn’t.

“I was wondering if you’d mind,” she hesitated, “I have to finish reading this book. For school. But I’d love the company if you’d like to sit with me.”

Nick smiled. “That sounds perfect,” he told her. “Though I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep.”

Diane smiled. “That’s fine,” she said.

“You’ll have to wake me,” he told her. “I’ll never get over my jet lag if I sleep in the middle of the afternoon.”

“I promise,” she said.

Diane fetched her book and Nick brought out the book he’d packed in his suitcase. Diane sat herself on one end of the sofa, tucking her feet up under her in a pose she clearly employed often. Nick hesitated – should he sit in the armchair? – but she smiled and beckoned to him. He sat on the other end of the sofa and threw her a smile that was probably less certain than he’d hoped for.

When she opened her book, Nick took an extra second to watch her before he did the same. It took a while to get back into the story; he hadn’t read this in a while, plus his eyes kept drifting over to Diane.

_She’s so beautiful._

+++

_Why does he keep looking at me?_

Diane could feel Nick’s eyes on her face, and it was distracting. Technically she didn’t need to have this book finished until March, but after such an early start and their walk this morning, she was tired. When Nick had asked her if she had anything in mind, she’d wanted to say, ‘Yes, come and cuddle with me on the sofa until we fall asleep wrapped up in each other’, but it was impossible to form the words.

So this was the next best thing. Except that Nick kept looking at her, which made her both very self-aware and unable to allow her eyes to linger on him without being caught. Diane forced herself to concentrate, and finally she was drawn into the text, Nick fading from her consciousness as the story pulled her along.

The end of a chapter marked a breathing point, both for the main character and Diane; she blew out a breath and glanced up, finger poised to turn the page. She froze, realising the soft sound coming from across the sofa was Nick. At some point he’d slouched, and his head now rested back on the cushion, glasses slightly askew, book dropped onto his chest.

He was snoring.

It was adorable.

_He’s adorable._

Carefully, Diane placed the bookmark in place and lowered her book to the floor. She eased up onto her knees, smiling to herself as she took Nick’s book, noted the page, and placed it on top of her own. Funny though it was, this was the perfect opportunity to study him. His face was far more relaxed in sleep, but the kindness she’d first noticed in him was still there. She couldn’t see his eyes, of course – a definite drawback – but even so, he was an attractive man.

“Let me,” she murmured, even though he wouldn’t hear her. Careful fingers removed his glasses, and she froze when his nose wrinkled as the nose-rests brushed his skin. He murmured something, but settled again, so Diane folded his glasses onto their books. Should she leave him here? He did ask her to wake him up, and she’d promised. If she woke him now they could eat – it was early, but not ridiculously so – and turn in early. She assumed he’d wake early tomorrow too, which meant she would wake early, and she didn’t want to miss that time with him.

The predawn hours had been precious.

“Nick,” she said, one hand on his shoulder. It was awful to wake him, but she had promised. “Nick.”

“Diane,” he said, and she thought he was replying until he turned his head towards her, eyes still closed. “Diane.”

“Yes,” she replied, heart beating faster. _Is he dreaming of me?_ “Nick, you need to wake up.” He frowned, resisting, and Diane found her hand moving up to rest against the warm skin of his neck. “Nick,” she whispered, her mouth closer to his ear. “Come on, honey.”

“Diane,” he sighed, leaning into her touch.

She smiled. He was adorable like this. “Come on,” she repeated, easing closer. “Time to wake up.”

He groaned in disagreement, turning his body towards her, effectively trapping her hand under his neck and pulling her off balance. With an ungraceful ‘oh!’ and a whump, Diane landed on him. She froze, and from the tension below her, he’d woken up when she landed on him.

It took a few seconds of scrabbling on both their behalves before they were separated. Nick’s eyes were wide and confused, and she realised he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“Oh, your glasses,” she said.

“I don’t really need them for close up,” he replied automatically.

She nodded. She was much closer to him than she thought. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I was trying to wake you, but you turned and my hand was caught and I think I landed on you.”

Nick’s face was flushed, but Diane thought it might have deepened a little at her words. “I fell asleep,” he said.

“You did,” Diane replied.

“Did I...say anything?” Nick asked, flicking her a glance.

“When I was trying to wake you I was saying your name,” Diane said. “You replied with mine, but that just might have been recognising my voice.”

“I don’t think so,” Nick said carefully.

“No?” Diane asked.

“No,” he said musingly. “I think I was dreaming about Gander.”

_About me._

“Oh,” Diane said, with no idea what else to say. Why had he said Gander? If he was saying her name, he was dreaming about her, right? She felt hot irrational tears threaten, the inevitable kind that there was no stopping. “Excuse me,” she whispered.


	12. Sharing

Nick stared for a second as Diane extracted herself from the sofa. He was sure she was upset, and it must have been something he said. Should he follow her? The memory of how awkward it had been when he first arrived rose in him, and something new solidified inside him.

_Go and ask. Don’t leave it to turn again._

Nick put his feet on the floor and noticed his glasses on the book at Diane’s end of the sofa. He slid them on his nose then followed Diane into the kitchen, his heart pounding.

She was standing at the sink, hands on the bench, shoulders slumped.

“Diane?” he asked. He didn’t want to startle her, or upset her…but they’d spent so long not talking, and this morning it had changed, finally. He couldn’t let it go back to what it was. Stepping closer, Nick made sure she would be able to see him if she turned a little. She was definitely crying, he could see. But what had triggered it? What had he said?

When she turned to face him, her cheeks wet with tears, Nick’s heart ached for her. Her eyes were red, but worse they looked hurt and resigned and sad.

_Oh dear heart, don’t be sad…_

“I don’t know what I said,” Nick said carefully, “but I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Diane sniffed, wiped at her cheeks and tried to smile. She couldn’t quite meet his eyes, and Nick felt their closeness ebbing away as she closed in again a little.

“Do you need a hug?” he asked. He didn’t really think she would say yes, but after a long moment she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Nick responded automatically, his arms coming around her back. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the presence of her in all his senses. A deep breath drew her scent into him; he could tighten his arms and feel her there, close and warm and solid. So much more real than his dreams.

_She thinks your dream was about Gander._

The understanding came to him suddenly, at the same moment he realised she was crying again, small shudders wracking her body as she pressed into him. Nick tightened his arms and lowered his face to kiss the top of her head. He wanted to explain but now was not the moment. He’d offered comfort; he needed to remain here for her until she felt better.

_I hope I’m helping._

Nick could feel her arms tight around his back; a wet patch was growing under her face on his shirt but he didn’t care. She could ruin every shirt he owned if it helped. The moment felt eternal and short at the same time; when Diane took a deep breath and exhaled, Nick’s heart sank that this might be over. He wasn’t sure when the right moment would be to explain what he’d meant earlier, and his heart burned that she might sit with the misunderstanding for longer than was necessary.

Diane’s arms eased, and Nick followed suit; he didn’t want to hold her here. His anticipation of her leaving was premature; she only leaned back a little so she could look at his face.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he replied immediately.

“It’s fine,” Diane said.

“I was dreaming about you,” Nick blurted. “In Gander. But…memories of you.”

Diane stared at him for a long moment, and Nick had no idea what she was going to say.

+++

Diane had no idea what to say. It was too big to address, so she addressed something else instead.

“Are you hungry?”

Nick blinked at the admittedly sharp change of conversational direction. “Yes,” he said. “Well, a little.”

“Toast,” Diane said. They could eat, then they could sleep. Then deal with it all tomorrow. It was all mixed up in her head and as she made toast and spread peanut butter, it almost overwhelmed her again. It was too big. Everything had come to a head without her even realising, and she couldn’t figure it out.

So, they would eat toast.

They ate in silence, a single piece each. Diane felt like she was on autopilot. Dirty dishes in the sink and she turned to Nick.

“You should sleep,” she said. “I know its early but,” she shrugged, unable to muster the energy to continue.

“Of course,” he said, standing from the breakfast bar. He hesitated, and Diane’s heart broke a little at the uncertainty on his face.

_Tomorrow. Let me sort it out tonight, and…tomorrow._

Instead of last night, with only a quick smile, Nick stepped forward, one hand on her elbow as he bent to press a kiss to her forehead. Diane gasped at the contact, her eyes seeking Nick’s immediately. He smiled at her, full of fond understanding, and then he spoke.

“I’ll see you for tea in the morning,” he said before turning away.

Diane nodded, even though he wouldn’t be able to see her. Heart pounding she walked to her bedroom, preparing for bed without thinking. She glanced at her desk, the writing packed carefully away. It felt wrong not to write Nick a letter now; she had been doing it for so many days now. But he was here. In the next room, and he’d said they would have tea in the morning. In those quiet confidential hours before the sun came up.

She didn’t know how long she sat on her bed staring at the stationery, but finally, a decision was made in her head.

_I can’t sleep here._

Diane stood, her brain floating contentedly in a sea of disconnection as she turned out her bedroom light. She opened her door, the rest of the house dark and quiet as she’d anticipated.

Nick’s door was five steps away. She raised her hand to knock, the wood hard under her knuckles, then stood patiently to wait. Her head was still empty; she waited without worrying or thinking.

When Nick opened the door, she met his eyes, wondering if he knew why she was there.

_I don’t even know why I’m here._

Hesitantly, Nick opened the door wider, inviting her in. Though he was wearing his glasses, he’d been in bed; one side of the bed was mussed up and the bedside lamp was on. Words seemed too difficult, so Diane stepped through the doorway, holding Nick’s eyes as she closed it behind her. He wasn’t moving, and she could see his careful eyes waiting for her to act.

+++

When the knock came on the door, Nick was awake. He’d prepared for bed, sitting up with his pen in hand but unable to find the words. How silly it seemed to be writing letters he would never send to the woman in the room next to his. His heart was still aching to be closer to her. He’d taken a chance, kissing her goodnight and alluding to his likely early morning tea the following day.

_I hope that was the right thing to do._

In the end Nick hadn’t written anything, instead trying for sleep. His brain was exhausted, but there was little to stop the rewind of the afternoon playing through his brain.

And then the knock.

He’d heard her moving around a few seconds before, but thought she was probably making a cup of tea or something. He fumbled for the lamp and his glasses, taking a deep breath before answering, self-conscious in his pyjamas.

She stood before him in her own pyjamas, and the sadness in her eyes was startling. She didn’t say a word, so Nick pushed the door open. Did she want to come in? He watched her, wanting desperately to reach out but sensing the delicate balance of this moment could be shattered by one clumsy movement.

His heart was galloping when she closed the door behind herself and he forced himself to remain still. He couldn’t tell what she was going to do and wondered for a moment if she even knew or if this was a whim.

_Does she want to be close to you as you do to her?_

When Diane did move, it was away from him, breaking their gaze. Nick frowned until he realised she was walking to the far side of the bed, when he was obviously not sleeping. She pulled back the covers and slid in, tucking one hand under the pillow under her cheek, facing the middle of the bed.

_Oh God._

Nick swallowed and then followed her. He glanced at her before reaching for the lamp. Her eyes were calm on his so he switched it off, shuffling down the bed to lie still, curling his hands into fists to stop himself reaching for her. He could hear her breathing; it reminded him so powerfully of Gander he was almost back there, albeit in the dark.

“I kept the bathroom light on for weeks.”

Diane’s voice came through the darkness, the quiet admission startling.

“Me too,” he admitted. He hesitated, then added, “I’ve never told anyone that.”

“Me either,” Diane whispered, and to his surprise her hand was on his shoulder, then reaching for him. He lay still until she wiggled her way under his arm and he was cradling her, feeling her breath tickle his throat as her head rested on his shoulder, one arm reached across his middle.

_Oh my God. Please let this not be a dream._

“I missed you so much,” Diane’s words were strained, forced out through an obviously tight throat and Nick turned in towards her without thinking, pulling her closer as she began to cry again. He tried to be reassuring, kissing the top of her head and rubbing her back, her pain bleeding into him. When the sobs began to subside he spoke quietly. It was easier here, in this safe cocoon they’d created with each other.

“I missed you,” he said. “So much. Every day. Every… _single_ day.” He couldn’t say any more, but that was enough, he hoped. For the moment at least.

_I love you._

Not yet. Not now.

Diane’s arm tightened around him, and they both sank into silence, their breathing slowly synchronising. Whatever had been keeping them awake until now, Nick felt it dissipate and he slipped into slumber, Diane’s heart beating against his own.


	13. seize the moment

Diane woke from a dream about…something. Something pleasant and comforting, so she smiled before opening her eyes. It took a few seconds before she realised something was different. She stretched across the bed – empty – but the mattress felt different, and was she sleeping on the other side of the bed?

Opening her eyes, they settled immediately on Nick.

_ Oh my God. _

_ Nick. _

The previous evening came back to her even as she watched Nick button the last of his shirt, his eyes apprehensive as they met hers.

“Nick,” she managed, sitting up against the headboard. The room wasn’t light, exactly, but the lamp was on, and she could tell he was holding something in his hand. Was it an envelope?

“I have something I’d like you to read,” he said, voice quiet and low. He hesitated, turning the envelope over in his fingers before placing it on the pillow beside her. “I’ll be in the kitchen when…when you’re done.”

The smile he gave her was the same as the first night, tight and awkward.

Diane stared as he walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar. The sounds of him in the kitchen filtered through; he would be making tea, she thought with a pang. Belatedly she looked at the envelope beside her. It was some kind of expensive stationery, her name in careful script on the front in dark ink.

Nick’s handwriting.

Fumbling, Diane grew impatient and tore the envelope open, allowing a single page to fall out and land on her lap. With a shaking hand she picked it up, turned it towards the lamplight and began to read.

_ Monday 7 January, 2002 _

_ Dear Diane, _

_ My hand is shaking to write this, knowing you will read it. I have been writing letters to you, dear heart, though none have been delivered until now. _

_ Waking with you in my arms this morning was more than I had dreamed, and yet I find myself unsure where we stand. With so many months of uncertainty behind us I cannot fail to act again. _

_ Accordingly I offer you all the letters I have written to you but not posted. Each and every one is entirely honest. Had I truly believed you would ever read them I might have been more circumspect, but then you might not have understood the truth. _

_ To be clear and candid, I love you with every cell of my being. _

_ If you wish to read your letters, they are in the bedside table drawer. If you do not, I will understand. I only ask you to be clear about how you see our relationship. A letter in return would be more than sufficient. _

_ Yours, _

_ Nick. _

Diane felt her mouth drop open and her breath stop in her lungs as she read. It was disjointed and the handwriting did indeed wobble when Nick said his hand was shaking. She read his letter, and then again before her hand lowered, eyes staring ahead as she tried to process what he was saying.

_ I love you with every cell of my being. _

He loved her. He had been writing letters to her, as she had to him. And he loved her.

With a sudden whirl of motion, Diane scrabbled for the drawer beside her. When it finally opened she reached inside, eyes widening at the thick pile of envelopes. She looked at the top one, her name penned on the front, the date in the top corner.

_ Diane. 5 January, 2002. _

The day he arrived. Had he written this here? A shiver coursed down her spine as she realised they might have been sitting in their respective rooms that night, writing letters never intended to be sent. 

Her hand shook again and she turned the envelope over. She knew it would make more sense to start at the start, but she had a sudden desperate need to know what he was thinking that first night.

_ Saturday 5 January, 2002 _

_ Dear Diane, _

_ I’m sitting here in your home. All the worry I’ve held about how things would be when we saw each other, and it’s been better and worse at the same time. Some moments I almost kissed you. I shook with wanting to, but I couldn’t tell if you wanted me to or if I was projecting my desire. You know I would not hurt you, my dear, and I know I must be patient. It might take time for us to find the dynamic we once had. _

_ Once I thought you might kiss me, but you did not. We both mentioned Gander in passing, and those moments felt right, like we were back in the old rhythm, instead of this one that’s slightly off kilter. There’s only one wall between us, and I hoped for a few moments you would follow me. Knock on my door and I would open it to find you there, and you’d hug me, or kiss me, and this dreadful anticipation would cease to be. _

_ But we have tomorrow. I hope we can find our rhythm again. _

_ Your smile is as radiant as ever. _

_ With love, as always, _

_ Nick _

Diane blinked, a tear falling on the paper. She watched the liquid draw the ink out of the paper for a second before she moved it, not wanting more tears to marr the words.

_ It was the same for him. _

Everything he’d written was the same as she’d felt. Fanning the letters out, Diane suddenly needed to read them all. To know exactly how he’d felt all those months. Had he been torturing himself as she had herself, worried his memories were fading, that too much time had passed?

Suddenly Diane realised Nick would be sitting in the kitchen with no idea how she was receiving his letters – or even if she was reading them at all.

There was only one thing that made sense.

_ He loves me. _

_ And I love him. _

_ Oh my God. _

She collected up his letters, holding them in one arm as she stumbled into her room, pulling the whole drawer out of her desk in her haste. Hers were not in quite the same order but they were dated so he could read them in order.

_ I’m going to give him the letters. _

Diane swallowed, a sudden wave of doubt washing over her. Was this the right thing to do? What if Nick didn’t…

The thought was cut off when Nick appeared in her bedroom door, looking worried. “I heard a crash,” he said. Diane looked up at him from the floor where her drawer had fallen.

“I’m okay,” she said, the words sounding ridiculous. “I was…getting your letters.”

“My letters?” Nick repeated, looking confused.

Diane nodded, feeling tears threaten. “I wrote you letters,” she whispered.

+++

Nick’s head was reeling. He’d woken before Diane, head swirling with what this could mean or might mean or…

He couldn’t leave it. Sliding carefully out of bed, Nick took up his notepaper and pen, leaning awkwardly on the bedside table as he wrote a short letter to Diane. It wasn’t well thought out, and he knew his handwriting wasn’t great, but he needed to finish before she woke.

One way or the other, this needed to be resolved. His heart couldn’t take any more uncertainty.

As he dressed, finishing his buttons, Diane stirred and Nick’s heart leapt into his throat. He watched her wake, affection coursing through him as she stretched. When her eyes opened and she looked at him, he knew this was the moment.

A quiet word, an envelope on the pillow and he escaped, feeling like a coward but unable to stay while she read his words.

_ What if she’s not interested? _

Nick’s hands continued to shake as he made his tea and he pressed his palms into the bench as he waited. Diane was awake, at least he knew that; he wouldn’t have to torture himself wondering how long she would sleep. Nick trusted curiousity to lead her to read the first letter but he had no idea if she would even open the drawer to look at the rest. The kettle boiled and he made tea, forcing his mind to work matters as a distraction. He stared into the tea until the milk was no longer distinguishable; the steam slowly stopped rising, and he was just about to see if it was drinking temperature when a crash came from the bedrooms.

_ Diane. _

Nick was moving before he realised he was. A quick look into the spare room showed it empty, so he stepped over to the master bedroom.

Diane sat on the floor, a drawer from her desk beside her. Nick could see it was full of stationery. As were her arms. Full of the letters he’d written.

When she told him the drawer contained letters she’d written to him…

Nick’s heart leapt, but he moved slowly, not trusting his body not to collapse. “May I?” he asked when he was sitting on the floor beside her. He ached to reach out to her but restrained himself.

_ Patience. _

“Please,” Diane whispered, tears standing in her eyes. She reached in, pulling out an envelope dated September 28, 2001.

Nick took it, glancing up. “You sure?” he asked quietly.

Diane nodded. “I read your letter,” she said. “And…the other one you wrote here.”

Nick nodded, not entirely sure what she was saying yet. He pulled open her letter and read it as carefully as he could given how much he wanted to devour her words.

_ And since ‘I miss you’ is basically ‘I love you from a distance’, it seems appropriate. _

Nick’s heart stuttered and he looked up, knowing his eyes were wide, needing to see her face. She was watching him, hands resting in her lap, tears coursing down her face. Nick’s eyes were still searching hers, checking that his actions were allowed as he reached forward, wiping at her cheek with a trembling hand.

“Which one is that?” Diane asked, pointing to the letter. “I just picked one at random.”

Nick swallowed, looking down. “And since ‘I miss you’ is basically,” he swallowed again, looking up at her as he recited the rest from memory, “‘I love you from a distance’, it seems appropriate.”

Diane smiled a little as he spoke. “Oh,” she whispered.

+++

The tears were wet on her cheeks, the spot Nick had wiped away wet again within seconds. Nick’s voice caught as he read her words back to her, and Diane remembered writing them. ‘I love you from a distance’ had come to her one day and the idea stayed with her. 

It had made her cry later that night, when the loneliness wrenched at her heart and she missed Nick so badly it hurt.

“So when you said you missed me,” Nick asked, “last night…when you joined me…”

“I love you,” Diane blurted, the tears running faster. “Nick…I don’t…” she drew a deep breath, not even sure what she wanted to say. As she watched, Nick discarded the letter she’d given him, reaching for her.

_ Thank God. _

He was kissing her, messy and desperate, his hands on her face, and she was kissing him back, her breath coming in gasps, knowing he would be able to hear it and not caring. After all those months apart from each other, and the last two days of awkwardness it was glorious. She was clutching at him, leaning in as much as she could with a lapful of envelopes between them.

It was obviously not an issue for Nick because he slid closer, swiping the envelopes away, winding one hand around her back and pulling her almost into his lap. She gasped, but Nick was kissing her again, sliding his open mouth across her cheek and pressing kisses into her neck. There was no option but to lean into it, her hands around his shoulders, pressing into him. This was what she’d dreamed of, the passion she’d glimpsed on the plane. That had been more or less in public, though, and she’d felt the restraint in him then.

There were no such limitations here, but he was still holding back. Without thinking Diane surged forward, shifting until she was sitting on Nick. Straddling him.

He gasped as she settled, turning her head to kiss him again, slow and deep. He’d stopped for a second but then his arms came around her and he matched her pace, a lazy exploration, their breathing settling together for long moments. Nick’s hands moved constantly, a steady sweep up and down her back and into her hair. She was bending down to meet him now, her body higher than his, the differences many between this kiss and their previous – months ago in the airport in Dallas, a self-conscious farewell. That was an ending, a quiet conclusion to what they’d found in Gander.

This was a beginning.

“Nick,” Diane murmured when their kisses slowly tailed off. Her mouth was bruised but tingling, and she barely moved back, not wanting to be an inch further away than she needed to be.

He hummed in response, kissing her softly again, one hand buried in her hair as he waited for her to continue.

“I do want to read your letters,” Diane murmured.

Another hum, more kisses; Nick was clearly not interested in the letters. The realisation sent a thrill through Diane.

_ He’d rather be kissing me. _

“But not right now,” Diane added, her cheeks heating at the insinuation.

_ Please understand. _

+++

_ I have no idea what she’s talking about. _

Nick could tell Diane was saying something, but he only noticed because it meant she wasn’t kissing him anymore. After so many months apart, and the two days of restraining himself from touching her, comforting her, _kissing_ her, he wasn’t going to stop now to have a conversation.

He’d kissed her, finally, and she’d kissed him back. It was uncoordinated and messy, but she didn’t seem to care, the little noises she made sending shots of desire through him.

_ I love you I love you I love you… _

And just when he was frustrated at where they’d ended up, sweeping the envelopes aside and kissing her neck as he’d wanted to do (but hadn’t dared) on the plane - Diane more or less climbed into his lap and kissed him again. She’d taken control, slowing it down until Nick could hardly breathe, his arms wrapping around her, his heart begging her never to stop.

But stop she did, easing out of their deep kisses to say something. Nick’s ears were full of his own heartbeat, and he pressed soft kisses to her lips, managing to hum when she paused, hoping she would come back and kiss him again. 

“Nick,” she said, and this time her face eased further back so he had to chase her.

“Yes?” he said finally, blinking to focus on her. His glasses were somewhere – had he taken them off? – but he could see her face. She looked gently exasperated, as though she knew he wasn’t listening.

“I didn’t hear you,” he admitted. “You stopped kissing me.”

“I did,” Diane said, and her cheeks were pink.

“I love you,” Nick blurted, surging up to kiss her again, hoping it would work to distract her – and it did, for a moment, and he groaned as they sank together.

“I said,” Diane repeated, cupping his jaw and smiling into his face, “I don’t want to read your letters now. But I do want to read them.”

“Good,” Nick replied. “I want to read yours.”

“But not now,” Diane reminded him.

“Not now,” Nick agreed. He paused. “Did you have anything in mind?”

Diane smiled, the flush returning but her eyes remaining on his. “You asked me that yesterday,” she reminded him. “And all I wanted to do was lie on the couch with you all afternoon.”

“Oh,” Nick breathed. He pictured long slow kisses, hands in hair, whispered declarations and admissions, until perhaps...He swallowed as something twisted low in his belly. “Yes, please.”

“Today I thought we could skip the couch,” she said. She glanced over his shoulder, and Nick followed her gaze as much as he could with a lapful of Texan blonde.

“Oh,” he breathed again as he saw her bed.

“I love you,” Diane repeated, and she bent in to kiss him again.

“I love you,” Nick managed between kisses, “but I can’t get up unless you get up first.”

Diane grinned, wide and breathless as she scrambled up, not minding the envelopes as they scattered around her. “You put dates on these, right?” she said.

“I did,” Nick replied, following her to his feet.

“Good,” Diane replied, pulling him down to kiss her again and deliberately toppling them sideways. There would be no need to say anything else now, and the time they had together stretched out before them. Days and days before Nick started work, and after that, well, who knew what the future would bring?

Whatever it was, they would be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading everyone. It's lovely to be here at the beginning of this little ship with all of you!


End file.
